The Awful Truth About Absolutely Everything
by Arwythe
Summary: Well,not exactly everything, but about one thing, anyway.Life gets stranger for our Strange Angel. Amidst peculiar circustances, Madame Giry reveals an awful truth. Most likely a oneshot
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters. _

_**Chapter One**_

_In Which There Are Mysterious Occurrences, and a Truth is Revealed_

Christine Daae stood alone on the stage. She was clad in an angelic white gown, and her unruly curls were covered by a white snood decorated with small delicate flowers. The Phantom waited, breathless with anticipation. This was the moment he'd worked so hard for!

Christine held her posture in the way her teacher had instructed her. The orchestra played the introduction. It was time. She drew a deep breath, opened her mouth, and thundered in a deep basso profundo:

_In the bar, in the bar_

_Where I smoked my first cigar,_

_And the nickels and the dimes rolled away._

_It was there by chance_

_That I tore my Sunday pants,_

_And now I have to wear them every day._

_Every Da-a-a-y, Every Day-ay!_

_And now I have to wear them every day._

She finished the piece with a loud belch, and fell into the orchestra pit. The racket it made cause several theater goers to stir in their sleep.

In box five, Raoul whistled and stomped, squealing shrilly "Encore! Encore!"

Madame Giry turned into a pelican and flew away.

The phantom moaned softly and walked back to his lair. He blew out all of the candles, one by one, and sat in the dark, rocking back and forth.

Morning came. The black lace bed curtain twitched slightly as the Phantom peeked cautiously from behind it. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he arose and padded to the kitchen. Unseen, an entire platoon of lemmings, dressed in Hussar uniforms and wearing the most adorable bonnets slipped from under his bed and marched silently into the lake.

Erik ate his breakfast, and was absently tossing another fish to the pelican, when a great splashing and ululating sounded from the lake. Startled, he leapt to his feet, only to spy Meg Giry approaching, and calling his name. "Erik, oh _Erik!"_ She howled, "ErikErikErikErik!" As there appeared to be little chance that she'd drown in the knee-deep water, no matter how hard he prayed, he reluctantly beckoned her to shore.

After she'd finished dripping water all over his costly Persian carpet, Meg remembered why she'd come.

"Have you seen my mother?" She asked the Phantom. "She's been missing since last night's performance." Erik glanced guiltily at the pelican. No, he lied. The pelican squawked indignantly and gave the Phantom a nasty peck before flying off, but Erik hardly noticed. Something else had caught his attention at the moment. Meg seemed to be growing larger, and her head was swelling to incredible proportions. "That's too bad Erik, that's really **too bad!**" Erik didn't like the way this was going one bit, and nervously felt around under his cloak for the lasso. "**Yes, Erik….It's too bad, because now I'll have to EAT you! Yes! I'll have to eat you ALL UP with my huge, sharp, DRIPPING fangs! Oh Boy! YUM-YUM!**

Now, if there's one thing that Erik knows, is when to use his Punjab lasso, and this was not one of those times. This seemed to be an ideal time to run, and that's just what he did. Blind panic lent wings to his feet, and he literally flew down the tunnels and passageways. He did not stop until he was completely winded. He would have leaned against the wall to steady himself, but the wall seemed to have turned into a rather morose looking cow, and he didn't have the heart to burden it further. The cow thanked him and left.

The tunnel began to look suspiciously like a diner at two AM on a Friday night. Erik began to cry. "What is happening?" He asked the waitress. She didn't answer, but squawked and gobbled up the fish she'd just served him. "Damn it, tell me! Why do these strange things keep happening to me?" Madame Giry preened her feathers, and cocked her head at him. "Because, dear Erik, this is a Phanfic, and you are the straight man. You are **_always _**thestraight man. Hadn't you noticed?

Erik looked around in bewilderment. "Noticed what?" Madame Giry didn't bother to answer him. She just laid an egg and waddled off to the pantry.

_A/N: This is probably a one shot, as I'm happy with it just the way it is. However, if enough people like in, I may add more. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera in any size, shape or form, nor do I own any of its characters._

**Chapter Two

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**

_A chapter which has little to do with the first chapter, and has been placed here despite the Authoress's threats to make it a one shot. Some people don't know when to quit.

* * *

_

Erik shifted and wrapped his cloak around himself. The tomb was freezing….and damp. Damp and freezing…with mould and cobwebs, and spiders…no, they were rats…wait….puppies?….uh, weasels? What the Hell _were_ those things, anyway? Upon consideration, the roof of the tomb seemed like a much better place to wait for Christine. What was taking her so long, by the way? He'd dropped her off over an hour ago.

The rooftop provided a breathtaking view of the cemetery. He could see Christine dawdling along the cemetery pathways, singing to all the statues. Once more he wondered about possible head trauma from her childhood days. Surely it would explain a few things. Whatever her problem was, he wished she'd hurry up, for in the distance he could see something bad. Very bad. Raoul was approaching, riding bare-back on a white circus pony. His sequined leotard glittered in the early morning sunlight. It gave Erik a headache.

Suddenly from beneath his perch, he heard a thud and an "oof!". Sure enough, Christine had finally made it, and was lying face down on the marble steps of the tomb. Now would be a good time to pounce. He got into his very best pouncing stance, closed his eyes and sprang. As he'd planned, he landed on something soft and feminine. Something that smelled nice and had long, soft hair. Something….Raoul! Erik leapt to his feet, and drew his sword, deflecting Raoul's tennis racket in the nick of time.

Erik gritted his teeth. He couldn't get a good clean shot at the idiot. The fop twirled and danced, darting in and out of range, swatting the Phantom with his tennis racket at every opportunity. If only he'd hold still! Erik decided that fighting dirty was in order right about now, and whirled his cloak to confuse Raoul. Which is sort of like carrying coals to Newcastle, if you know what I mean, but I won't editorialize. It would have worked, too, except that the blasted cloak took on a life of its own. Up, up it rose, wrapping itself tightly around Erik' head. He couldn't see anything, and started flailing in wild fury. Augh!Augh! He yelled, in utter frustration. Raoul smiled with delight. "Augh!Augh!" He yelled, and matched Erik's wild gyrations perfectly.

"Augh!Augh!"Cried Erik, twisting and waving his sword..

"Augh!Augh!" Replied Raoul, twisting and waving his tennis racket.

"ClapClapClap"went Christine, keeping time with the strange duet.

"Augh!Clap!Augh!Clap!Augh!Clap!Augh!"

Erik began to feel small hard things strike his body, sort of like pebbles. Terrified of what they might be, he managed to tear the cloak from his head. There, completely surrounding the three of them was a large crowd , tossing coins. Mortified, Erik slunk over to the circus pony and caged a ride. He glanced over his shoulder as he rode, at the two of them still Clapping and Aughing, completely oblivious to his departure. They would pay for this indignity. The circus pony agreed with him, whole-heartedly. Back at the lair they began to make plans.

The circus pony turned out to be a bossy sort, and wanted to run the whole show. They got into a terrible fight, and the circus pony left in a huff, threatening to call the gendarmes. Erik got a cold compress and held it against his forehead. Madame Giry's last words to him echoed in his head: "_Because this is a Phanfic, and you're the straight man! You're **always** the straight man! Squawk!"_

Erik groaned. He had to something about this straight man business. He didn't want to be a straight man. Why couldn't he be a…a…_crooked man_, like everyone else? There had to be a remedy for this affliction. Somewhere there was help to be had! If it was out there, he'd find it, he vowed! After all, he was the Phantom, and he would not allow such things to keep happening to him! The cold compress turned into a lamprey and latched on to the top of his head. "Augh!" Shrieked Eric.


End file.
